Ironic that Morrissey, who drapes himself in pompadoured iconography now himself follows involuntarily in the footsteps of Elvis . . . rising to prominence in his youth, only to spend the B-side of his life dodging fat jokes. Although to be fair, Morrisey's homages are to 1950's rebel icon James Dean, who had the good sense to die young and tragically, thus avoiding the ravages of male pattern baldness or involuntary weight gain.

The man can still croon, and his lyrics are as beautifully cynical as ever. All in all, a great concert. And to his credit, when the occasional lunatic fan stormed the stage (and there were many), he would still offer up an arm's length handshake as security dropped them to the floor.

The show opened with Kristeen Young. I had heard of her, but by name only. I was liking her music too, and I think she's someone to keep an eye on.

But man, she's a real curio -- imagine if Kate Bush had an illegitimate daughter, weaned her on Red Bull, and then abandoned her to be raised by Bjork, with only an electronic keyboard to play with. That weird, and that wonderful.

Coming from Yuma, AZ, I realized that I'm one of the few new Las Vegans who've actually experienced a drop in temperature.

Two days after I arrived in town, I was leaving a Walgreens pharmacy. There was a young guy sitting on the sidewalk, with his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking and I realized this guy was actually sobbing. Not something you often see, unless a guy has been kicked in the junk, or had his heart broken. There was no crotch-grabbing involved, so I'm assuming a troubled love-life.

My wife visited from AZ this weekend, and we decided to mingle with the tourists (which we were, technically, up until a few weeks ago). We experienced a rare event -- my wife and I trumped the sales staff at Bloomingdales and some trendy tea shop. She asked for a particular brand of cookware, and the sales assistant admitted to never having heard of it before. Later, we asked the attendant at the tea shop about chrysthanthemum tea ( a tree-barky tasting tea I've developed a taste for), and we received the same reply. I was feeling pretty impressed with myself, up until the moment I banged my head against the clear glass door as we left. PWANG! Damn you, karma!

I was informed (politely) that I was pronouncing Nevada incorrectly. Apparently, it's not 'Neh - va -dah', but rather 'Nuh - vat - uh'. Because I will make public presentations on occasion at my new job, I've been forcing myself to make this sound -- and it's never going to feel right. But I have to, as it's a matter of developing credibility with born & bred locals. Yeesh. I still have to fight off the urge to wince -- like hearing Canadians say 'paa - sta' instead of 'pah -stuh'. I can still hear Tony Fortunato (Brooklyn) from my freshman year at Plattsburgh State, after hearing a commercial on the CTV network . . . "What did they say? It's 'pah -stuh', you stupid mother-f . . . . .!"

I really, really like neon.

I'm disappointed to have not yet made an Elvis sighting.

My driving habits quickly devolve to the lowest standard of those in which city I am driving.

After moving here from the Mexican border, I've actually had to re-adjust to seeing so many white people.

The billboards and taxicab advertising placards show lots of hineys. Not that I'm complaining.